


Masquerade

by flowersaretarts



Category: Vurt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:43:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersaretarts/pseuds/flowersaretarts





	Masquerade

I lost count. Another sleepless day, the bedroom full of haze, sick grey light and fading hopes to cope with.  
Peter, Peter, why the fuck did you have to get caught in the bad dream? Where are you now, all I hear is your faint scream and the sound of the whip, but your face isn't there.  
It started when The Fox sold us that fucker of a feather...

-

The Fox wasn't called so because of his hair - he had none -, but after the fake furry throat wrap he wore. It's dead plastic eyes were staring at evey client he was trading feathers with.

"-This one worth at 5 lovelies. It's a mean little cunt, mind my word. It delivers you right into the fanciest ball you've ever attended, and it plays you well."

"-Where's the catch, Foxey?" - asked Peter, looking up at them from behind his battered blue notebook. He was scribbling something, ignoring most the Fox's soliloquy, but got suddenly animated when his worst and best friend Jonathan took out his wallet. 

"-The catch, gentlemen, is that every masked wanker at that party can be a door into other theatres, some of them pure yellow, some bloodvurts, some horrors, it's a lottery. Keep on your toes and don't take candies from strangers."

"-I don't know, Nail. I don't think we should."

"-Nonsense!" 

Jonathan shoved five notes into the Fox's Vaz-smeared fist and was now fingering the feather. Dark-blue, with wide black stripes and shimmering gold along its edges. 

"-I'm afraid I must dash now, gentlemen" - said The Fox, on his feet, grabbing his satchel and quickly retreating to the staircase, before they even uttered their goodbyes.

Peter was highly suspicious about that, however his mind had to get engaged in another activity - forcing Whitehall to have a meal before the ride. 

He summoned all his powers of persuasion, together with a bowl of tomato soup he extracted from the can he found in the cupboard the other day. Better than nothing, better than belly full of nicotine and empty hopes. 


End file.
